I chuckle and whisper back, “This is one of those places that will follow you into the bathroom and wipe your ass if you want them to.”
The menu drops onto the table and Piper bursts out laughing. Her laughter is poetic. Exhilarating. Contagious. I start up as well. We try to stop but then one of us looks at the other and we crack up into a fit of giggles. I’ve never seen her look more beautiful. It’s as if all the stress that goes along with . . . being her, is momentarily lifted. Her eyes water and she dabs at the corner of them with her linen napkin.
Our waiter clears his throat, reminding us that he’s still anticipating our order.
I pick up the wine menu and ask Piper, “Does a Chardonnay sound good?”
She nods and I proceed to place the order.
Another server brings us a hot loaf of bread and fills our water glasses from a crystal pitcher. I break the bread, putting half of it on Piper’s plate. “How do you feel now, five days after?”
“Pretty good. Just this morning, I went for my first run since the marathon. You?”
“I started offseason conditioning on Wednesday.” I instinctively rub my sore thighs. “They’ve taken it easy on me because of the race, but I probably pushed myself a little too hard trying to impress the powers that be.”
“What exactly is offseason conditioning?” She tears off a piece of her bread and pops it into her mouth.
“It’s a nine week program that keeps us from squandering away the muscle and agility we gained during the previous season. The first few weeks are limited to strength, conditioning and rehab—which decidedly I was in great need of.” I continue to explain the details of our workout program when she starts choking on a piece of bread.
She drags in ragged breaths between coughs, looking embarrassed to be drawing any attention. “Are you okay?” I hold her water out to her. “Here, try and take a drink.”
She pushes the glass away, instead reaching into her bag to pull out a water bottle. I notice she always carries one with her and I wonder if it’s a habit she got into while traveling. You can never be too sure about the quality of water in strange places.
She stops coughing and I nod at the bottle. “Are you a water snob or a germaphobe?” I joke.
She shrugs and caps the bottle, placing it back into her bag. “I just like this particular brand, that’s all.” She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “So, you want to be the starting quarterback?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I ask.
“No. Everyone doesn’t,” she says, her unease abundantly clear. “Why would you want all that attention?”
The sommelier brings us our bottle of wine. Piper watches with great interest as he opens the bottle and pours a taste into my glass. “Yes, this is fine. Thank you,” I tell him as he fills our glasses and places the bottle on the table.
“I don’t play football for the attention, Piper. I play football because I love the game.”
She takes a drink of her wine, eyeing me over the top of the glass. “Why is it so important to you?”
“Have you ever had anything you were really passionate about? Something that defines you to your very core? Something you felt you would die if you didn’t do?”
Piper shrugs and her eyes fall despondently to the table when it dawns on me she did have something like that. Skylar told me acting was her life when she was growing up. And yet she gave up her dream to travel the world aimlessly.
Or something forced her to give it up.
“Maybe you just haven’t found that one thing yet, Piper. You’re young. You still have a lot of years to figure it out. I was lucky. My dad signed me up for peewee football when I was five. He was my coach until I went to high school. It was something we always did together. We bonded over football. I guess that’s part of why I want this so badly. I think he would’ve been proud of me.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “Would’ve been?”
I nod. It’s been almost seven years, but my voice still hitches when I tell her, “My parents died in a car accident when I was sixteen.”
Piper gasps, covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, my God. That’s awful. I’m so sorry, Mason.”
“You can’t imagine how losing someone that close to you can change your life. I wanted to die along with them. I was their only child and didn’t have any relatives I could stay with. It was my football coach who helped me out of my depression. He took me in, letting me live with him until I went away to college. All of my anger, all of my aggression, all of my self-loathing—he got me to put it back into football.”
“Why did you hate yourself?” she asks, sympathetically, or maybe empathetically. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was my fault. I was driving.” I relive the moment in my head for the millionth time. I’ll never forget how time stood still and seconds became a lifetime. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand what I was thinking when I swerved off the road to try and miss hitting a squirrel. A fucking squirrel. It wasn’t even someone’s pet. When I crashed sideways into the tree, I traded my parent’s lives for a goddamn rodent.”
She looks sick, her pale face displaying a look of horrified disbelief. “Did you really want to die?”
I swear the way she asks me the question, it’s the most introspective thing I’ve ever heard come out of her pink, pouty lips. I don’t look away from her. Her question burns a hole into my brain. Into my soul. She’s been there, too. She wanted to die. I’m sure of it. And it completely guts me.
I nod, holding my hand out and turning up my wrist so she can see the evidence. “Yes, I did.” I take a deep breath and go out on a limb. “I killed my own parents, Piper. I’ve been to hell and back. So you see, there is nothing you could tell me that would make me think any differently about you.”
“Are you ready to order, sir?”
Of all the times for a waiter to interrupt a conversation.
Piper stands suddenly. “Excuse me for a minute. Can you please order for me?” She scurries away in the direction of the bathroom and I’m more than a little relieved that she didn’t take her things with her. I watch her walk away, wondering what the hell happened to her that made her want to die, and wanting to do everything in my power to make it better.
After placing our order, I hear her phone ping and vibrate on the table. I realize she forgot to silence it. I look towards the bathroom to see if she’s on her way back when it chimes again. When I don’t see her, I decide I’d better silence it for her. After all, this is a pretty upscale place. I reach out to it when I see the text that pops up on her screen.
Charlie: I know you don’t want to hear it, but I couldn’t let this day go by without wishing you a happy 22nd. I love you, Pipes.
Her phone goes dark again and it takes all my willpower not to pick it up and make sure I read it correctly. Today is Piper’s birthday?
No wonder she wanted to cancel. She probably wanted to do something special with her family. Either that or she didn’t want me to feel the pressure of having our first date on such a momentous occasion. But why would she not want to hear it from Charlie? Are they fighting?
I don’t let another second go by without calling the waiter over to make some last-minute arrangements.
Then my phone rings. Cassidy. I have no choice but to answer it. She’s got me by the balls when it comes to that. I would never forgive myself if something ever happened to Hailey and I didn’t know because I was too stubborn to answer the phone.
“What is it, Cass?” I ask, brusquely.
“Well, good evening to you, too, baby.”
I roll my eyes. “Cassidy, is there a point to this call, or are you just trying to ruin my evening?”
“Of course there’s a point to the call. I wanted to let you know that Hailey climbed the stairs all on her own today without any help from me.”
“That’s great, Cass, but I’m sure this could have waited until tomorrow. And you will remember to keep the safety gate locked, right? Just because she can climb the stairs, doe
sn’t mean she won’t fall.”
She huffs into the phone. “God, Mason, I’m not stupid.”
The waiter comes by to ask a question about our meal.
“Are you out with the guys?” she asks, after hearing my brief conversation with him.
“It’s really none of your business who I’m out with.”
She’s silent for a beat. “Oh, so you’re on a date? I thought you didn’t date, Mason. Who is she?” More silence. “It’s the girl from last week, isn’t it? Snow White? Oh, God, baby. I mean, seriously, if you want to date, I can think of about a thousand girls who would be better suited for you than little Miss Awkward.”
During her tirade, Piper has rejoined me. She sits down and picks up her phone, I guess trying to mind her own business while I’m on a call. I don’t much like her reaction when she reads Charlie’s text. She shifts in her chair as if it suddenly became uncomfortable. A wave of sadness overcomes her and it makes me unhappy that she’s not getting along with her best friend on her birthday.
“I’m not interested in your recommendations, Cass. And what I do is no concern of yours.”
Piper snaps her eyes to mine when she hears me say Cassidy’s name. “Sorry,” I mouth to her, shrugging my shoulders and hoping I’m not completely ruining this date by talking with my ex.
“It absolutely is my concern,” Cassidy barks into the phone. “I can’t have you trolling around with God only knows who. How did you meet her? Is she one of your ridiculous little fangirls? Do you even know anything about her?”
I try to lower my voice, but anger boils up inside me. My boisterous whisper betrays the calm and cool exterior I’m trying to exude to Piper. “You’re one to talk. You have a goddamn revolving door in your apartment. God knows what Hailey is witnessing. So don’t you dare presume to tell me when and whom I can or can’t date.”
“But—” she tries to get a word in.
“I’m hanging up now.” I bring my voice up to a normal decibel. “There is a beautiful woman sitting across from me and I refuse to ignore her for any longer than necessary.” I end the call and put my phone down, noticing the blush sweeping across Piper’s cheeks.
“You are, you know,” I tell her. “You’re beautiful, Piper. If I didn’t tell you that already, I should have. And I’m sorry for taking that call, but I never know when it might be about Hailey.”
“It’s fine.” She waves it off, and then starts picking at the tablecloth as if she’s never received a compliment before. “I understand you’d do anything for your daughter.”
“Do you like kids, Piper? I know you have a special connection with Maddox, but I never see you with Aaron or Jordan. You don’t have a problem with me having a child, do you?”
I watch intently as she picks at the white linen, knowing she’s thinking deep thoughts, and I wonder if my being a dad is going to be an issue for her. She’s only twenty-one, well twenty-two, but still she may be too young to take on the responsibility of being with a guy who has a kid. Because she’s right—I’d do anything for Hailey. And no matter how much I want Piper Mitchell, if she can’t accept my daughter, that’s a certified deal breaker.
chapter thirteen
piper
My heart pounds so hard against my chest wall, I’m sure Mason can hear it. Thankfully, our waiter interrupts what I’m sure would have been a very awkward conversation, depositing meals in front of us that I imagine should come from a diner with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths, not a high-class restaurant with expensive linen ones.
An unexpected smile cracks my face. “You bring me to this fancy restaurant; one that actually does have attendants in the bathroom that would probably wipe my ass; and you order me barbeque?” I laugh, looking at the slop of Carolina pulled pork on top of a thick Kaiser roll.
“I’ll never forget that first night we met,” he says. “When we had the argument about you being an athlete. I’m sure you remember the one?” He winks at me and I roll my eyes. “You had barbeque sauce in the corner of your mouth and I can’t even begin to tell you what I would have done to be able to wipe it off.” I try unsuccessfully not to grin at the visual in my head. “I knew you probably would have kicked the shit out of me. And now, after seeing you box the way you do, I know it for a fact. But I thought, since we’re on a date and all, that if it happened again, you’d be kind enough to let me wipe it.”
For the second time tonight, I feel heat creep across my face and I’m sure my cheeks are pinking up to match the shade of my borrowed lipstick. I fidget nervously with my bracelet and then pick up my wine, absentmindedly putting it to my mouth, allowing the liquid to touch my lips before I realize what I’ve done. My eyes go wide and I quickly put down the glass and wipe the wetness from my frown.
“Something wrong with the wine?” He sniffs his before taking a drink.
I shake my head. “No. I guess I’m just not a big fan of Chardonnay,” I lie. It’s my favorite. “Sorry.”
“I’ll get you something else. What would you like?”
“Nothing, thanks. I think I’d like to dig into this great-smelling sandwich.”
He pushes the tiny serving bowl of barbeque sauce towards my plate. “Don’t forget to really load up,” he says, smiling.
I laugh. “I was right,” I say, trying to get a grip on the pile of meat, dripping sauce from a bun that’s larger than my hands. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Who said I was incorrigible?”
“Nobody.” I get some sauce on my finger and lick it off. I look over at Mason who is watching the action intently, his dilating eyes trained on my lips as I see him shift around in his chair. I didn’t mean anything sexual by it. I really was just licking my finger. But the way he’s looking at me right now, it’s like he wants to eat me alive. And every part of my body, right down to the cells that make up my beating heart, is afraid that’s exactly what he wants to do.
But the same parts of me are also terrified that it’s not.
I stare at him, wondering how the simple act of me licking a finger could make him lose his shit. “All football players are alike. You think you can get whatever you want, whenever you want without regard to anyone. And you never change. I know what goes on. I’ve heard about plenty of famous players in their forties who are on their third wives, girlfriends on the side, and a felony assault charge that was conveniently dropped to boot. What is it about being famous that makes you think you can disregard all the rules of basic humanity?”
I immediately regret my words. I know I said them out of fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what this date could lead to. Maybe I’m sabotaging the night on purpose. He’s never given me any reason to doubt his intentions or his humanity.
He puts down his fork and looks me directly in the eye. “That’s not me, Piper. I’m not like Charlie’s mom, if that’s what you think. I don’t believe the world is at my disposal. I don’t expect things to get handed to me on a silver platter. I fight for what I want. And right now I want two things—football and you.”
My breath catches, his words taking me completely off guard. He doesn’t give me time to respond. “I know football players get a bad rap for being . . . well, for being players, but I’m not like that. I’ll admit I wasn’t careful when I was younger. I made a mistake. I got careless. But I’m not a bad person. Have I done anything to make you think I am?”
“What about at the airport?” I ask.
“Airport?”
“When you gave that woman your phone number.”
“Huh?” He tilts his head and studies my face. “What woman?”
“The one with the kid. I think he was lost and you helped him find his mother. Then you gave her your phone number. Are you telling me that’s not being a player?”
The strong muscles of his jaw try to suppress a smile before the features of his face soften with boyish charm. “It was an autograph, Piper. Not a phone number. I talked about football to try and calm him down. Turns out his dad was a big fan
, so he asked his mom if it was okay for me to give him an autograph.”
“An autograph?”
He shrugs; a slow graceful movement of one muscular shoulder.
I close my eyes and shake my head. “I’m sorry. You’ve actually been pretty nice to me considering some of the things I’ve said to you. But how do you know you won’t become those people? I mean, you’re just at the beginning of being famous. What happens if you get that starting position? What happens when women throw themselves at you whenever you leave your apartment? What happens if you want one of them, but they decide they don’t want you? Are you going to just take what you want, Mason?”
He pushes away his half-eaten plate of food, seemingly losing his appetite. He pours the remaining wine into his glass and drinks it in one long swallow. “No, Piper. I’m not going to take what I want. But I am willing to fight for it. That’s where I’m different from them—the men in your past.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I growl at him, giving him a biting stare.
His face falls into a frown and I can tell he regrets his comment just as much as I regret mine. “You’re right, I don’t. But I would like to. I hope you’ll give me the chance to get to know you better. Now, eat your sandwich or you’ll waste away. I’m willing to bet you ran more than you should have today. Am I right? What did you do, five, six?”
I shrug. “Seven.”
He laughs. “See, I know a lot about you already. I knew you would never stick to the marathon recovery guidelines.”
We talk about running for the remainder of the meal. It’s a safe subject. I tell him about the marathons I ran in Amsterdam and Berlin last year. I tell him how Charlie got me into running back in high school. I even show him some pictures on my phone.
“This must be Charlie,” he says.
“That was taken in Austria the day after she broke her leg. We were supposed to go mountain climbing the next week, but obviously, we couldn’t.”
“There aren’t any men in these pictures,” he says, taking the liberty of paging through more of my photos. “Does that mean I don’t have any competition from guys with really cool accents?”
Black Roses (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) Page 11
